


i saved you a cup of coffee but you died in the woods

by noeybody



Category: Devilman
Genre: "I can't believe Ryo Asuka is fucking dead", Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Collaboration, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Drunk Ryo, M/M, Miki as brief unwilling Only Sane Man, OVA English Dub Quotes, Part 1 is Crack with a capital C, Part 2 is the Serious Take, Ryo Asuka is a shady ass, Ryo Asuka probably lives in the woods, Time Loop Mention, honestly you can stop at part 1 and go on to live a happy life, like some cryptic, ryo is texan for some reason, somehow not a coffeeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noeybody/pseuds/noeybody
Summary: In another, perhaps happier world, Akira and Miki discovers a gnarly, earth-shattering newspaper headline regarding Akira's very own blond stoner friend. You know, the one with a terrible fashion sense to match his 47 guns under his trench coat.Akira fondly reminisces Ryo's subjective Death last night, while Miki regrets her trip to the coffeeshop. Ryo himself has been reported that he "doesn't give a shit."or, A Tale of Repentance: ~Poorly Executed Edition~





	i saved you a cup of coffee but you died in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> Collab fic between noeybodys and hoboemoq @tumblr
> 
> Devilman personally broke into my house to steal our souls
> 
> alternative titles:  
> "i saved you a cup of Coffer but you died in the woods"  
> "I can't believe Ryo Asuka is fucking dead."  
> "Ryo Asuka Unfortunately Hindered on his Trip to Coffeeshop"  
> "Actually I've only written like 1 fanfic in my entire life"

_Part 1: I SAVED YOU A COFFER_

 

Akira doesn’t normally read the newspapers. It’s not that he’s against it, or that he doesn’t care for current affairs, it’s just that the news just never really has been on his mind. Miki’s family, on the other hand, seems to be one of avid readers-- Akira’s never seen her dad without one in the mornings, a small tuft of hair behind papers nodding slightly after Miki calls out a casual greeting. Not to mention, Akira’s pacifist nature dictates that the abundance of violent news and loud, angry letters is adverse to him.

 

Today’s different, though. Akira settles down in a chair opposite Miki, breathing in the warm smell of coffee. (It’s good.) For some reason, the front page of the newspaper on the stand catches Akira’s eyes.

 

Miki sets down her coffer to gently chastise him about needing to hurry home, but Akira ignores her to pick the paper up. The headline is bold and striking, a yell of “LOCAL TEXAN MAN PERISHES IN HISTORICAL LANDMARK”. But what really does catch his attention is the poorly defined photograph, where its muted colours and grainy texture still doesn’t serve to hide the shocking blonde hair of the man it captures.

 

“Akira? Who is that?”

 

Miki has come up behind him, eyeing the paper and Akira in turn. But Akira does not answer, just stares, stock still, eyes widened in silence. Akira wonders if Miki can feel the tremors of shock radiating off his body. Not even Miki can beat the intense way his eyeballs were fixated on that single photograph, the only movement that of his hair swaying gently as the wind blew even though they were still inside. (Oh, wait, it’s just a customer walking in through the doors.) Every other part of his body was still-- it’s as if time itself has stopped so the young man could stare at another young, dead, pixelated Texan man.

 

For a moment, his eyes brighten up in quizzitive intelligence.

 

Then he blinks and the spark is gone.

 

He looks up at Miki with his signature cheer and innocent smile in place. Suddenly Miki is again aware of the customers moving to and fro, and time has started moving again.

 

“Why of course!” Akira quips airily, “It’s my old friend, Ryo!”

 

His head snaps back to the paper.

 

“How the _hell_ had he been keeping then?”

 

Miki stares at him in wonder.

 

“Miki, let me introduce you to my friend Ryo, from my old school.”

 

His eyes glistens in fond memory. “He was my best friend.”

 

“Was,” Miki repeats.

 

“Was!” Akira agrees, with childish shine. He nods back to the crumpled paper in his hands. “I guess so!”

 

Miki doesn’t really know how to reply (a rare moment for someone like Miki), so she just reads over Akira’s shoulder. The blurred face of what she gained was a pretty stoner with sideburns sharp enough to kill a man looks back at her. Or rather, his imminent death. She is honestly surprised he appeared in the papers as a victim of a freak accident, rather than someone who would... well, maybe summon demons or get in a fight with hippies in some basement party. But that was unrealistic.

 

 

 

> ‘Local Texan Man was crushed by the historically significant statue of ‘Fall of Lucifer’ last night. (...) Autopsy reveals man was not only somehow highly intoxicated with alcohol level over .50, but has previously ingested large amount of cocaine. “Too much blood in his alcohol system”, the doctor reported. (...) Further eyewitness report the unfortunate victim shouting ‘stupid demons’ and ‘BLOOD, BLOOD!!’,  along with the claim that ‘humanity has no chance of survival’. After that, the man tripped over his own trench coat, knocking over the Statue onto himself. (...) Though seemingly crushed to death by the statue, further investigations revealed he was, in reality, effectively suffocated by his large collar.”
> 
>  

“Incredible!” Akira helpfully comments. Then he sighs. “I remember it now-- That’s how I’ve always envisioned Ryo to go.”

 

Miki is still hovering over the newspaper clipping when her eyes catches something of interest. She points to it, asking, “Akira... is this you?”

 

 

 

> ‘When asked by a nearby young man if he required assistance, the man reportedly replied that he “[doesn’t] give a shit”. The young man later testified that he had to, because he “used to be [his] best friend”, but had no relation to the incident.”

 

“...’Used to be’,” Miki mutters darkly under her breath.

 

Akira nods happily, unaware of Miki’s internal turmoil.

 

He sighs again, satisfied. “Well, I hate violence and I hate blood, but looks like newspapers aren’t quite so bad after all!”

 

“Akira,” Miki says. “That’s not a newspaper, that’s a fucking tabloid.”

 

The righteous young man of pure and virtuous nature regards Miki, his child-like eyes glowing with rare seriousness.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Miki briefly wondered if this was why he was so late the night before, while Akira reminisces Ryo’s death.

 

 

 

> “Religious figures are warned to refrain from commenting that he is a “lackey of satan”, and citizens are advised to refrain from excessive alcohol consumption.”
> 
>  

The End

* * *

 

 

_Part 2: but you died_

 

 

Ryo had approached Akira late in the night, which actually wasn’t very rare, even in their younger days. Neither was his usual method of inviting Akira from the woods (weird as it already was).

 

What _was_ unusual was how heavily intoxicated he was.

 

“Aki...Akiwa,” he slurred, stumbling through with a cracked bottle in hand. “Akiwa Fuudo.” He tripped on a root, and Akira, surprised as he was, had caught him. Ryo gripped on tight like a drowning man holding on to his only lifeline. Akira tried to help him up, but Ryo was heavier than he looked. Akira half-suspected he actually kept a couple of guns under his coat, but he never dared confirm. And neither was it the time, he thought, as he studied Ryo’s face. It was heavily flushed, and though he knew Ryo wasn’t really a happy sort of person --that’s the way he was-- it still pained him to see him like this in any form.

 

“Ryo, what’ve you got so drunk for?” He muttered. “You could easily hurt yourself.”

 

“That’s the idea,” Ryo laughed, an unfocused look on his face. Using Akira has support he hoisted himself up, and Akira couldn’t help but cough at the strong smell of whiskey.

 

“Akira, I want you to come along with me. I have something...something important to show you.” Even drunk Ryo was surprisingly coherent, and Akira had to admire that fact. Then again, he did like giving stupidly long-winded speeches about humanity and everything in general. Maybe it was like, ingrained into his nature by now.

 

Oh, Ryo was looking into his eyes now, glazed over as it was. Akira never could figure how Ryo was able to look hopelessly stoned and amazingly intense all the time. His common sense warned him that he should probably just take Ryo home and get him some rest or something, but it couldn’t hurt to find out what Ryo’s got so worked up about. (Plus, he figured, this would be a pretty funny story to tell after Ryo’s sobered up.)

 

So he let Ryo take his hand (or actually the other way around, when Ryo was stumbling every four steps he took.).

 

“Let’s get- let’s get a move, _on_ ,” Ryo insisted.

 

Akira couldn’t help but giggle a bit. Even smashed, Ryo could be stubborn as ever. He could just imagine Miki dissuading him from following this, hmm, ‘pretty stoner from the woods’. (Actually, the two of them might get along. He should introduce Ryo to Miki tomorrow when he’s better.)

 

“So... come on, Ryo, what’s happening, man?”

 

Ryo didn’t reply, stoically marching (swaying) on forward. Akira sighed in defeat.

 

He soon found out they were at the town’s park.

 

It was completely silent save for a few late-night joggers. A long streetlight dimly illuminated the large statue centering the park. The night breeze was cold on Akira’s cheeks. It must have been even colder on Ryo’s flushed ones, but he didn’t seem to either care or notice as he let go of Akira, who found himself strangely disappointed when the warmth left his hand.

 

Ryo stood defiantly, albeit unsteadily, in front of the statue. In a sudden frenzy he threw his arms apart, laughing wildly.

 

Akira didn’t really care.

 

Ryo pulled this shit even when he was sober. Regularly.

 

(Actually, was he ever sober? None of their past interactions could prove it otherwise.)

 

“Akira...”

 

Ryo seemed to have calmed down a bit, looking at Akira with serious eyes. Akira thought he looked a bit surreal, only partially lighted by the fluorescent lamp. A few mayflies had gathered underneath it high up, casting tiny, flickering shadows on Ryo’s face. The white light made him look even paler than usual. He almost glowed against the dark of the woods.

 

Like a ghost, Akira thought vaguely. He looked like a ghost. A ghost with flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, a quiet beauty who had come back from the dead to guide him into the entrance of hell.

 

Nevertheless, Ryo was already beginning to ramble. The moment was broken. Akira blinked.  

 

Ah! Good ol’ Ryo. Of course.

 

Ryo gestured vaguely, “Look, Akira. Look at this damn statue. Remind you of anything?”

 

Akira looked at the damn statue.

 

Historical landmark as it was, Akira couldn’t really share in people’s admiration of it (much like newspapers). To him, it was just a plain old statue of a winged being, nothing more, nothing less. It was cool how it had, what, 6 pairs of wings, but Akira thought it was a bit excessive, honestly.

 

“What about it, Ryo?” Akira knew Ryo enjoyed a bit of prompting into his long speeches, even if he didn’t really need one. He smiled a bit. He imagined Drunk Ryo would appreciate it too. “Well, it looks like an angel.”

 

Ryo hummed, and smirked confidently. It was not really different from his default expression.

 

“Humanity really prides itself on leaving behind monuments like this, don’t you think? Such stubbornly clinging onto past memories and leaving them behind in physical records with such great effort. Perhaps it’s humanity’s obsession with the past that prevents them from moving forward, Akira. Don’t you think it’s important to sacrifice the past for a better future?”

 

… Ah, Good Ol’ Ryo indeed.

 

Akira was familiar with Ryo’s rapid-fire tongue and spontaneous philosophical rambles against humanity. Which was honestly stupid, because Ryo was a human too. But it made him think about his old school days again, and Akira would be lying if he said those memories didn’t help him pull through difficult times. He could remember Ryo’s speeches as if they were done yesterday, he realises, fondness filtering across his wave of nostalgia. Still, it was amazing Ryo didn’t stop to take a breath even while swaying precariously.  Akira mentally got ready to catch him if he fell.

 

“Humanity has no chance of survival against the demons.”

 

He paused.

 

“Stupid, stupid demons.”

 

Ryo, predictably, tittered forward, and Akira readily stepped forward, arms open. He struggled under Ryo’s weight before trying to set him on the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to throw him on the ground like he would, usually. There was just something so vulnerable the headstrong, egotistical Ryo who was anything but weak.

 

Ryo’s breath tickled his neck, and so did his hair. It was… really soft against his skin. He mumbled something incoherent. Akira uttered a sigh as he shifted Ryo’s weight to the ground.

 

“What is it, Ryo?” he asked gently.

 

“...beside me, Akira… here… glad...”

 

His words crawled to a whisper. Akira patted his back awkwardly. Usually, with his tall and lanky stature, along with his out-of-fashion trench coat and an air of intimidating disinterest, Ryo was deemed unapproachable by most of his peers. Akira knew he wasn’t just his best friend-- he was his only one. But seeing him like this now, red-faced and unable to stand on his own, Ryo didn’t seem so overwhelming, rather, fragile as he heaved breath on Akira’s chest.

 

All of a sudden Ryo pushed Akira off, though, and Akira took his words back. ‘Fragile’, his arse. Ryo was now pointing an accusing finger at him, nasty grin on his face.

 

“I had a dream, Akira Fudo!” He announced loudly. Akira briefly recollected the last time he used that kind of voice. It was persuasive-- inspiring, even. It had also ended with an entire party of teenagers out for their blood by the end of the night. Memorable? Sure. An experience he wanted to repeat? No fucking way.

 

“I was this-- this angel. Thing. Not angel, no. Not anymore” Ryo tried to do something resembling gesturing, but ended up flapping his coat like a strange chicken. “So many wings, ‘Kira. You wouldn’t even know. I could fly anyways, without wings. What’s the wing for? The God’s cruel play, that’s what.”

 

“Sure, Ryo.” Akira felt like a mother looking after a child. Not that it was unusual. Ryo had the self-caring ability (let’s not even talk about self-preservation ability) of an infant with a sweet, sweet taste of freedom in a kitchen with very sharp knives.

 

Actually, Ryo _did_ carry knives, didn’t he. Many.

 

“Anyway-- are you listening? When I say ‘God’, I don’t fucking mean a god. But God. Capitalised. He was the shit. Thought he was the shit. He’s an ass, Akira. A powerful ass, but still an ass!”

 

Akira Fudo had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe this was the ‘power bottom’ thing they whisper about at school. Somehow, when he tried to join, the conversation would slowly die out, awkward laughter and ‘you’re too young’. Which didn’t make sense because they were the same age.

 

“Akira Fudo!”

 

Akira jumped at the mention of his name. He looked up at Ryo. There was a sudden passion that lighted up in his eyes-- then gone, replaced by the fog of alcohol. Maybe he just imagined it.

 

“If someone-- if one creates something, don’t you think they have no right to erase it again? You didn’t ask to be made! You fought through each day with your hardest to survive!” Ryo clutched his fist, and brought it close to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “So I fought against God, Akira, yes, just like you. Our situation was so...so similar… But even so--”

 

His burning energy died off in an instant. His arm dropped back besides him, on the ground. “I couldn’t forgive them, ‘Kira.”

 

The longer Ryo went, the less Akira could catch up. The way Ryo is spiralling off, something about being created and destroyed, was beginning to unsettle Akira in the strangest way. In the end he just managed, “I never fought god, I think.”

 

Ryo continued.

 

“I was so foolish.”

 

The way he slumped is like an invitation, allowing Akira back into his world. Akira accepted it. He leant forward, again, stiffly placing a hand on his.

 

“The strong thinks they have the right to crush the weak. I made the same mistake, though that was exactly what I hated. No, not me. The dream me, the past me… Or was that still me?” He shook his head, voice down to a murmur. “I am not me-- I am not Ryo Asuka. Who am I?”

 

There was gentle, passive desperation in his whispers. Worry gripped Akira stronger than ever. He tried to calm himself.

 

“Of course, you’re my old friend, Ryo.” Akira tried. “Right? Let’s go home, Ryo.”

 

“Ha! Friend, huh...” Ryo laughed, though his eyes held no joy. His gaze flickered downwards. His hands shifted, and they were holding Akira’s. His fingers were slender, albeit a bit clammy and warm, Akira thought.

 

“You’re so very important to me, Akira. Back then, yes, but right now as well. And yet in another world I would have done terrible things to you. Ah, or maybe it’s not really me, Ryo Asuka,” Ryo looked at the statue behind them, glowing without a word. Akira struggled to process what Ryo was saying. “...But humans, for all they care for preserving the past, hasn’t discovered how to change what has happened. Or maybe I actually have. But I keep pulling you down to my hell, over and over again.”

 

Sitting down, the streetlight illuminates his hair, his eyelashes-- normally golden, they now shined an even more eidolic colour of radiant white. In contrast, wherever the light failed to reach was near-pitch black, shadows inking his face.

 

Then Ryo raised his head, and looked back to Akira, and the shadows briefly cleared from his face.

 

“...Forgive me, Akira.”

 

It’s a breathy, drunken confession of sin. Forgive him for what? Akira wanted to know. Akira could smell the whiskey, could see the way his lips moved, soft, then bite down on itself. Akira’s name feels sweet on Ryo’s tongue, he already knew, but the heavy way it’s said here bring on a different feeling of bittersweet.

His lips are going to bruise, Akira thought unclearly, then reached out. To do something? He wasn’t sure. It felt right, It felt--

 

Ryo puked.

 

He made a sound, and Akira had realised it only split-second before Ryo heaved over the side.

 

“Aw, geez, Ryo,” he sighed. Ryo splattered out the last of whatever microwaved meal he probably had before this. Akira muttered something like ‘There, there’ like his mother used to as he pats Ryo’s back. (It felt hard. Was that a bone or a gun?)

 

Ryo said something Akira couldn’t hear. He leaned in. “...like coffee.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You smell like coffee. Where were you coming from when I found you, Akira?” It’s like Ryo heaved out his burdens along with his last meal, because he sounds a lot more like normal. Even if Ryo-brand normal was far from average.

 

“I was coming from the new coffee shop that’s opened nearby, oh, we should go there together, but-- hey, actually, how do you find me all the time? Your car’s like, aways a few roads away, never closer, and you always come of the woods, and--” Akira’s eye widened in concern. “Ryo, you’re not living in the woods or something, are you? I know you’re weirdly rich, but--”

 

“No, I’m not. You’re just predictable.” Ryo was scowling now, which, weirdly, was actually something even rarer than his genuine smile. (His facial expressions seemed to have a narrow range of an intense, pursed-lips one to full out maniacal laughter.)

 

“Predictable?! I-”

 

“You’re not difficult to figure out, and return home immediately after school-”

 

“Because they only offer sports! And you know how much I hate conflict.” Akira grinned in pretense annoyance. And Ryo, flickering his eyes up at Akira, gave a gentle smile.

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s why we were such close friends…”

 

Akira felt strangely warm and tingly. He smiled back readily. A mayfly buzzed past his ear.

 

Ryo, without skipping a beat, dug his pockets before taking out a pack of familiar cigarettes. Akira, recognising it, dropped his smile.

 

“Ryo,” warned Akira.

 

“Oh this? It’s laced with--with-- whoa!”

 

Ryo was a lot stronger than he looked, Akira knew that, but he still wasn’t much agile when drunk. The pack was easily snatched out of his hands.

 

“I’m keeping this,” Akira declared. His friend didn’t need it. He expected Ryo to flail for it harder, but in a moment he stopped, and laughed aloud.

 

“You are, truly, a righteous young man of a pure and virtuous nature.”

 

The long-winded...compliment? had an air of gentle affection rather than mockery, Akira guessed it was all good.

 

“Well I suppose I am a young man,” he laughed. “Well, then, what would _you_ be, Ryo? An angel? Actually, you'd be more of a demon, won't you?”

 

He meant it as a good-natured jokel Akira had actually heard Ryo been referred to as a angel by a pining schoolgirl, once for his fair complexion and pretty-boy looks. But he had also always thought his sharp tongue and often maniacal behaviour was closer to a devil.

But Akira realised, somehow, he had made a mistake. All traces of a smile were gone from Ryo’s face. The light-hearted mod had disappeared without warning. Ryo, himself, glanced at the statue.

 

The night air was frigid.

 

It seemed like an eternity before it is filled with the bland noise of Ryo’s voice again.

 

“...I don’t know.”

 

He looked genuinely confused, and it is then Akira _really_ remembered the kind of state Ryo was in. Ryo was never one to care (or ‘give a shit’ per his words) about health, but how much _did_  he drink, and why? When?

 

“Let’s go home, Ryo.” Akira tried. But Ryo did not take his eyes off the statue. ‘Historical’ as it’s called, Akira thinks it just might be secretly made of plastic and paint.

 

“You’re drunk, I’m tired-- I’m sure Miki’s family has a guest room they could rent,” he tried again. No budge. “Or-- well, I’m worried about leaving you alone, so I guess you could also stay in my be-”

 

“I’ll prove it to you.”

 

The interruption made Akira blink. Ryo had still not taken his eyes off the statue, but his eyes burnt with steel resolve.

 

“Ryo, what-”

 

“I can’t have my wings, but-- Ah! Yes!” Ryo finally turned back to Akira, bright smile on face, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Worse, if anything. “Akira, Akira Fudo. I shall try my very- hic, best to make this union.”

 

He gritted his teeth.

 

“I shall wear the demon mask.” He got to his feet and grabbed the statue.

 

“Ryo? What the hell do you mean-- Ryo!”

 

====

Barely seconds had past, but Akira already felt a headache coming on.

 

The Historical Landmark of this city-- that is, the angel statue--- had deviated from its usual vertical position, and was now preferring to lie stonely on the blonde boy trapped underneath.

 

“Ryo- do you need help-”

 

“I don’t give a shit.” Ryo cut him off abruptly.

 

Akira hadn’t heard anything broken thankfully, but Ryo seemed to be in pain nevertheless, groaning as he shifted  a little. Akira couldn’t tell anymore if his cheeks were really flushed with the alcohol, anger, or humiliation. Probably all three above. Ryo glared down at the floor.

 

“Look, I’ll call for help,” Akira decided.

 

“No,” Ryo breathed.

 

“You’re drunk, you’re probably high, and now you’re pinned under our town’s statue, Ryo.”

 

Ryo was silent. Akira took it as defeat and tried to get up, but found Ryo’s hand gripping onto his arm.

 

The murmur was barely audible. “Don’t go.”

 

Akira forced out a laugh. It wasn’t like he was going to be gone forever, geez. He tried to gently pry off his fingers. They were ice cold.

 

“Gosh, Ryo, I’ll be seeing you soon. _Bye._ ”

 

Then from underneath the statue Ryo looked up, really looks up at Akira and Akira sees multitudes of emotions flashing past his eyes. He looked so strained.

 

Ryo is- Ryo is normally a calm person in his own way. His apparent lack of emotions often led others to think he didn’t have one at all. But Akira wasn’t ‘others’. He could basically taste Ryo’s outburst before it happened, but it still didn’t really ready him for this one, Ryo shaking and fist clenched with knuckles whiter than white.

 

“You’re going to die!” Ryo was screaming, or sobbing, maybe. Akira startled, overwhelmed. He tried to disentangle himself from Ryo, whose arms were now clawing at his sides. Ryo didn’t stop. His fingers fought their way to his face and they’re a coldness that prickled against his cheeks.

 

“You don’t get it, _you don’t get it_. You die at the end!”

 

And Akira knew, knew that Ryo was only rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop the way his body seized. He was frozen and his pulse was thrumming and his heart was rattling in his ribcage at such speed. His veins filled with icy, foreboding dread. And then he was shoving instinctively, blindly at Ryo in front of him.

 

“I don’t want to fight you, Akira!” Akira’s mind was reeling and Ryo’s nails raked at the fabric of his shirt. Ryo’s cheeks were scarlet and his hair was sticking to his face with damp tears. His eyes were so wide, stricken, and Ryo was staring at him but also staring right through him. He looked like he was gazing directly into some great horror behind Akira that he just couldn’t see.

 

Then Ryo’s voice lowered into a whisper. His irises had reduced to the size of pinpricks.

 

“But we did.” His voice trembled. Even quieter, “I regret it. Till the end of my life and back.”

 

And Akira knew Ryo was just rambling. That it was just the alcohol talking. All he had to do is calm Ryo the fuck down-- but why couldn’t he find his voice?

 

He’d thought he was just dealing with drunk Ryo but this wasn’t him. That’s right. Isn’t him. Akira started to continue pushing Ryo off, alarmed and upset.

 

“Ryo?” Akira’s skin felt too tight around his body. His voice was unsteady. “Let me go. I said _let me go_!” He tried to throw Ryo off, but Ryo’s grip tightened onto him like a vice.

 

“No! Don’t leave me!” Ryo gasped. The more Akira continued to wrestle him off, the more Ryo seemed to fall into hysterics, tone cutting into the edge of desperation. Ryo’s fingers scrabbled at the fabric of his shirt. But it’s too late, and Akira just didn’t know what to _do_ . His head hurt his lower back ached and he’s so desperate to know _what the fuck is going on_ that he felt dizzy. It scared him, and a shiver ran up his spine.

 

Akira lost his footing and tumbled to the ground, world tilting around the two of them. Ironically, this finally made Ryo let go, and as soon as Ryo was off him Akira sprang to his feet so fast he almost fell over again from being hit by a wave of vertigo.

 

Akira didn’t notice how badly his limbs were shaking until he was standing on his two feet..

 

“Don’t go!” Ryo croaked, almost pathetically, “you can’t.” Then his eyes blazed and the tears dried. They lost their unfocused look in an odd moment of clarity. For a moment, Ryo didn’t sound so out of it any more, instead taking on his usual self-righteous tone.

 

“You don’t get it. I’m going to kill you.”

 

Akira took a step back.

 

Ryo was crazy. He’d always known it, and damn him if any of the time they’ve spent together didn’t prove it. He swiped a hand across his forehead and was almost surprised to find it slick with cold sweat.

 

“Oh, uh, ha, ha, Ryo…”  Akira laughed unsteadily, as if trying to muster enough calm for the both of them. “No fucking way, Ryo, I’m outta here!”

 

“Akira.”

 

Ryo called after him in his steady frustration, but Akira had already started running.

 

Logically he knew he was to find a police station, or a phone booth, or anything really to get his friend medical help of whatever sort. Emotionally, however- it felt like there was something at the corner of Akira’s mind, calling him back to whatever the past had held, a tragedy of long times past. And when Akira ran it was like he was running away from that feeling, from Ryo’s eyes of both desperation and calm that seemed to haunt him.

 

He didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t dare find out. And so he kept on running, kicking up gravel behind him in the cold night air as a bat flew past.

 

\---

 

Miki blinks, momentarily stunned. It never ceases to surprise her, that Akira, what with his kind and harmless features, actually curses like a fucking sailor. He’s still smiling radiantly.

 

Well, whatever.

 

“... Right!” Miki grins brightly, plucking the paper-no, tabloid, rarely accurate, from his hands.

 

“We gotta go, or we’re gonna miss dinner,” Miki says as they make their way to the counter. “Let’s get a couple of to-go’s?”

 

\---

 

There’s a cup in his hands of a flavour he’s never bought for himself before. He sips it, and the taste doesn’t sit right on his tongue. It’s bitter but sweet and that confuses the hell outta Akira, who’s always preferred something more straightforward-- but it feels warm against his fingers and it smells fragrant and familiar and Akira wants it anyway.

 

Akira leaves the coffee shop with Miki in tow, an odd, longing ache in his chest.

 

Huh, must be some good coffee!

**Author's Note:**

> "btw Ryo actually died of hypothemia"
> 
> "No he didn't"


End file.
